


Spanish Sun

by Siyah_Kedi



Category: Inception
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 17:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siyah_Kedi/pseuds/Siyah_Kedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While bailing Eames out of an extremely sticky situation, Arthur lands himself in hot water.  In the end, though, it might not be as bad as it seams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spanish Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Thought of taking this in several different directions, but it hijacked itself towards the end and became a love story.

_If I raise my voice will someone get hurt  
And if I can't feel then I won't get touched  
If no truths are spoken then no lies can hide_

_**Garbage – Silence Is Golden** _

-o0o-

"I'd really like to take a moment to wonder how we get into these predicaments."

Arthur glanced down at his companion, scowling. "Now is not the time, Mr. Eames."

Eames rolled onto his back, quirking a half-smile up at Arthur. "Why not? You going anywhere?"

Not while they were trapped in a safe-house, with an angry army lurking outside waiting to shoot them dead. Arthur palmed his totem again, just to make sure. Definitely not dreaming. "If you'd paid your debts like you were supposed to, maybe they wouldn't have felt the need to order a _mafia hit_ on you. You're damn lucky I was here to bail you out."

Eames gave a half-hearted shrug. "Like I was supposed to know that he was connected?"

"Usually when I sit down at a table with people, I am aware of whether or not they might be the only son of a very powerful mob boss," Arthur hissed, covering the small window with a gun. It was little more than a closet, but with the low ceiling it was easier to lay down than stand crouched together.

"It might not have been so bad, but at the last second he was asking for more than I was willing to give. I did, by the way, pay all of my monetary debts," Eames felt compelled to point out. "That's actually why I was coming to see you, actually. Paying that fucker emptied my bank account."

"And he's still after you?" Arthur was itching to ask what Eames had denied the man that he'd come after the forger with such a vengeance like this.

"Yes, well, apparently there's no room for misunderstandings when you're Javier Negranoche."

"You pissed off Javier Negranoche? Why are you just now telling me this?" And really, Arthur wondered, who had a name like Negranoche? His father Jose ran the largest drug cartel in Europe out of his little Spanish hacienda. He was rich, powerful, and possessed of nearly unlimited resources. Their chances of getting out of this unscathed were getting slimmer by the minute.

"I did tell you. Son of a powerful gangster, and all that." And Eames. _Eames._ Arthur gritted his teeth against the inclination to shoot Eames out of hand. Eames was acting like this was just a huge misunderstanding, and that everything would clear up by daybreak.

"Names, Eames, names are important," Arthur hissed, and then their window exploded in shards of glass. A bullet lodged in the far wall, leaving a plume of chalk powder from the drywall. "Time to go," Arthur said needlessly, and hauled Eames to his feet. "Twenty yards to the right, there's an alleyway with a ladder. Get up that ladder and onto the roof. If Cobb came through, there should be a helicopter waiting to get us out of here."

"Unless they're equipped with anti-aircraft artillery," Eames pointed out as Arthur returned fire through the broken window.

"They're the mafia, Eames, not terrorists." And he really just didn't want to think about them wanting Eames that badly that they'd shoot down an apparently unrelated chopper.

"You're like a boyscout, right? Prepared for anything? Just making sure you're prepared for this." Eames was checking his magazine, chambering a round in his gun as he spoke.

"As soon as we're out of here, Eames, I am going to start shooting you. First in the foot, unless you tell me _exactly_ why this man is wasting his time and money to come after you."

"Fair enough," Eames grunted, pulling the slightly-rusted deadbolt free of the door. "No torture needed. But let's get out of immediate danger first, shall we?"

_I swear to god, Eames, if I didn't fucking love you so much,_ Arthur thought, but didn't say. Couldn't say it, not those actual words, but he was pretty sure Eames knew. Who else would have risked their necks - and their much-needed-vacation in Barcelona - to get him out of this situation if they weren't head-over-heels for the man? "Enough talking," Arthur ordered. "Move!"

"I love it when you're domineering, darling," Eames said, and then the door was opening and they were literally running for their lives. The mafia hitmen hadn't caught on yet, but Arthur heard shouting and knew they wouldn't be far behind. He also tried to ignore the flare of warmth in his chest at Eames' teasing 'love it', because now he knew what it would sound like if Eames ever said " _I love you._ "

They turned the corner into the alley, and the shouts came closer. He wasn't in the right frame of mind to translate them - Spanish wasn't his strongest language on the best of days - but he guessed enough to figure it was bad news for them. Eames was hauling himself up the ladder already, and Arthur wished he had the free time to spend ogling him for a bit, but the pounding footsteps and angry voices were getting closer. Eames was already halfway up by the time Arthur started climbing.

He hated heights, hated falling even more, and kept his eyes firmly on Eames' rapidly dwindling shape until he saw the forger scoot over the top onto the roof. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then lost his grip on the rungs as a bullet slammed through his ribs and lodged somewhere in his chest.

The pain was _overwhelming._ Then he realised the weightless sensation of a kick trying to wake him up wasn't because he was dreaming but because he was _falling_ -

He hit the ground and _heard_ his bones breaking before the pain kicked in because he was still overwhelmed by the bullet hole in his side, and then he heard voices, saw a couple of hispanic men looming over him, and then the pain from his ribs added its voice to the bullet wound, and he blacked out.

-

Eames clambered over onto the roof and took a moment to just breathe - they were out of range of the bullets, no one knew he was here yet, and there was the helicopter, just like Arthur promised. He scrambled to his feet, and realised that Arthur was taking a long time following him. He wanted to yell something like "There's no more arse to stare at, Arthur, get up here!" but there were still gunmen running around and he didn't need to announce his position to all and sundry.

Cobb jumped out of the helicopter and waved his arms. "Eames, come on, let's _go!_ "

Eames held up one finger - his index, not the middle - in the American gesture for 'one minute, just wait' and edged closer to the ledge. Arthur wasn't on the ladder.

That was the first thing that made it through his brain - _Where is he, he was right behind me_ \- and then he looked farther and realised there was a huge puddle of blood on the ground beneath the ladder, and his heart stopped.

_Arthur._

Arthur was gone, possibly dead - probably dead, actually, based on the size of the pool of blood down there - and Cobb was at his side, tugging on him.

"He's gone," he said, trying and failing to get oxygen into his lungs. "He's gone."

"He'll be fine," Cobb said, planting his feet and putting his whole not-insubstantial weight into the effort of pulling Eames away from the edge of the roof. "We won't be, not if we don't get out of here _now._ Come on, we need to get to his apartment. I have a plan, but it involves you _moving,_ right now."

Distantly, Eames let himself be pulled into the helicoptor and strapped down. He looked out the window as they lifted off, but he didn't see the helipad or the city sprawling beneath them. He saw an empty alley and a pool of blood, and he wondered how he'd let Arthur die saving him - how he'd let Arthur die without ever convincing the man how much he loved him.

-

_Pain._

That was the first thing that made it through the fog of unconsciousness, was how much he _hurt._ He groaned, only remembering after his eyes were open and there was a sunny yellow ceiling above him that was utterly unfamiliar that he'd been shot and fallen off a ladder, and quite possibly kidnapped but either way _in serious trouble._

He stiffened, but the man beside him was already stirring, putting a piece of cardboard into the book he was reading, and there was no chance for Arthur to pretend he was still unconscious.

"Welcome back," the man said in accented English, his voice curling around his vowels in a way that only Spaniards and Italians managed. "You've been unconscious for two days. We dug the bullet out and bandaged you up. You were, I'm sure you're aware, not the target. I do apologise for this misfortune."

Arthur breathed carefully and examined the oddly familiar man and the room he was in. It looked like a regular bedroom, with two doors and a pair of dressers, another small bed on the other side, and two bedside tables with lamps. The whole room was done in varying shades of yellow, and while it should have been garish it somehow managed to be understated and tasteful. The man leaning over him was typically hispanic, with smooth olive skin, dark eyes framed by generous laugh lines, and thick wavy black hair. He was wearing a loose cotton shirt and some jeans, and looked utterly at home in the chair he was occupying.

The lines around his eyes deepened as he smiled. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Javier Diego. Will you do me the honour of telling me your name?"

Suddenly it fell into place - why he felt like he should know him, where he'd seen him before. This was Javier Negranoche. "Diego?" he asked, and winced as the sound of his own voice rattled his brain.

"Oh, the Negranoche is all for show. Your name?" His feline smile was purely predatory, and Arthur was reminded that this man was the son of a very powerful drug lord.

"Arthur," he offered. "The last name is subject to change." Truthfully, he couldn't remember what his last name was supposed to be at the moment. He was having trouble getting anything coherent past the agony his ribs were in.

"Arthur," Javier said, his voice almost a purr. It was really quite pleasant to listen to, Arthur thought, and he could understand why Eames had gotten into trouble with this man. "Am I correct in assuming that Eames is your companion?"

"Co-worker," Arthur said, because he was a stickler for truth in all but the most extreme circumstances and because no matter how much he wished otherwise, he and Eames meant almost less than nothing to one another. Or at least, he meant nothing to Eames beyond a capable dreamshare partner; he wasn't going to get into what Eames meant to him, not now and especially not with Javier.

"Oh, you are in the dreaming as well?" Javier looked genuinely delighted, and Arthur forcibly reminded himself that people like Javier regularly put bullet holes in civilians and probably ate kittens for breakfast. "I'm sure at this point you would like to hear some answers to the questions I see in your pretty brown eyes, but I'm afraid it will have to wait a little bit longer."

He busied his hands with something, but Arthur couldn't be bothered with the details for once, because his brain was stuttering over the fact that this beautiful, dangerous, practically-a-Greek-god of a man had called his eyes pretty. And he might have been head over heels in love with Eames, it didn't mean he was dead to others. Or blind.

A second later, he had great cause to regret this inattention because Javier jammed a needle into the fleshy part of his thigh and depressed the plunger before the tiny pain registered alongside the larger, and everything went fuzzy. "Just morphine, I promise," Javier said. "Because you are in too much pain right now to pay attention to me."

"Hard to take my attention _off_ you," Arthur mumbled, because morphine did strange things to his self-control, and he was aware of the boyish grin Javier was bestowing on him before the drugs fully arrested him, and he sank back down into a blissful darkness.

-

They changed to a regular passenger plane - one of Saito's - at the airport, and Eames was still letting Cobb lead him around like a child because he wasn't capable of higher thought processes yet. He might have started crying, but the grief was too big even for tears.

"Eames, I know you're not listening to me, but hey. We'll sort everything out as soon as we get back to L.A. Okay? Okay?"

Eames heard Cobb's voice like it was coming at him through water, and he roused himself enough to ask, "What's in L.A.?"

"Arthur's apartment," Cobb said, and this got enough of Eames' attention that he actually _saw_ Cobb.

"You look like shit," he said, and Cobb rubbed the stubble on his cheeks.

"Yeah, well, it's been a rough couple of days."

"So why is Arthur's apartment so important if he's not in it?"

"Because his computer _is._ " At Eames' blank look, Cobb shook his head. "Look, Arthur set up a few things for me in case anything ever happened to him. It's kind of difficult to explain, so I'll just show you when we get there." He looked Eames over, and added, "And get some sleep. You look like shit."

Eames flipped him the bird, but without much feeling, and relaxed into the soft seat of the plane.

It was early evening when they landed at LAX, and Cobb had a car waiting for them. He gave the address with the ease of familiarity. Eames envied him that, but he memorised it anyway, just to have one more thing of Arthur's to hold onto.

When they got to the apartment building, Cobb let himself in with a code at the entrance and practically hauled Eames into the elevator.

"Why are we here again, Cobb?"

"Because Arthur's set up an emergency detail for me on his computer. It'll tell us where he is, whether he's alive or not, and what to do. I've only ever had to use it once, but it's amazingly detailed."

Eames remembered Arthur's levels in the dreams, the hotel rooms he was constantly rearranging, and smiled stiffly. "It would be."

He busied himself wandering slowly through the apartment, taking in the overwhelming aura of _Arthurness_ that permeated everything, and was constantly reminding himself that it was because Arthur _lived_ there. This was his home. This was where he stayed between jobs, and where he sent all his souvenirs and kept his clothes...

It was almost painful, but he made himself walk through it again and again, taking in everything. Some things were familiar; he remembered Arthur pointing out this china cabinet to him in Japan, and he'd bought that painting for Arthur as a gift, years ago...

Cobb gave a shout, and Eames drifted back to his side. He had Arthur's computer open, and was typing something into the password box. A new screen came up, totally blank with just the words "Dominick Cobb" in blinking font. Cobb typed in "Mallorie," hit enter, and the computer started. Programs opened automatically, something that wouldn't have been out of place in a hospital - a pulse display, blood pressure, internal temperature.

Cobb sat back with a deep sigh. "Thank the listening gods," he breathed. "Arthur's alive."

"How can you know that?"

"He's got a false tooth that registers all this information, as well as sends out a GPS signal that is encoded, and only translateable by this computer." He flipped to another screen, and this time it was a picture of the globe, greyed out with the words "Processing..." written across it in a dark font. "It'll take a few minutes to get a lock on him, but it's accurate to within thirty feet." Cobb switched back to the vitals display, and frowned. "Temperature and pressure's high; possibly he was wounded."

"He was," Eames said, his throat dry. "I don't know if he fell or if he was shot, or..." He swallowed around the lump in his throat. Nine hours spent thinking Arthur was dead was far too long. "There was blood, in the alley," he finished weakly. "No body, though."

"Excellent. Let me synch this up with my phone, and we can go tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Eames couldn't help remembering the blood - _there was too much, how do we know this thing's not lying_ \- and the aching need to find Arthur and feel his pulse for himself welled up inside him until it was the only thing there.

"Tomorrow. I need to get in touch with Saito, so we can get a plane back down there, and we both need to sleep. He's not going anywhere without us knowing about it." Cobb put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and for once, Eames actually took comfort from it before he shrugged it off. "I'll take the couch," Cobb said a moment later, in a total non-sequitur that threw Eames for a loop.

"Pardon?"

Cobb actually looked somewhat _sheepish._ "There's only the one bedroom," he said by way of explanation. "I figured - well, you might - he wouldn't mind you staying in there."

"Smooth, Cobb," Eames said by rote, and then the words actually sank in. Cobb was telling him Arthur wouldn't mind Eames sleeping _in his bed._ Considering how long it had probably been since Arthur last slept here himself, it probably wouldn't smell like anything except dust and fabric softener, but he could feel what type of mattress Arthur preferred to sleep on, slide between sheets that had or would contain Arthur, and rest his head on the same pillow -

He cut his thoughts off before he could get any more ridiculous, even if there was no one in there with him to hear it, and tried not to grin like an idiot.

When he stripped down to his boxers and saw a pair of Arthur's pyjama pants lying stretched out at the foot of the bed - just waiting for Arthur to come home and put them back on - he couldn't help himself; like a teenaged girl with a crush, he knicked the pyjamas and tried not to feel dirty as he slid them on. It was an inane sort of thrill, wearing Arthur's ridiculous green pyjamas with "Mtn Dew" plastered all over them, but it made him happy until he was lying down - _in Arthur's bed_ \- and he thought about how Arthur wasn't with him, hadn't invited him here, and was in fact lying somewhere, wounded and alone, in Spain because Eames had run off and left him after Arthur bailed him out of trouble.

Ice settled into his stomach and refused to budge.

-

The next time Arthur woke up, he was in considerably less pain and alone. He touched his cheek where the false tooth was implanted, transmitting his information to his computer if Cobb had had enough of his wits about him to check on it.

Javier came in shortly afterward, and Arthur automatically scanned the room for visible signs of cameras, wondering how he knew to check on him just then.

"Oh, good," Javier said, blowing his suspicions out of the water. "You're awake." He sounded genuinely pleased by this fact. "I hope you'll forgive me for earlier, but I do hope you feel better now," he added, and Arthur remembered the morphine injection, his hand going to his thigh.

"I'll get back to you on that," Arthur said, thinking about where he could go to have his blood checked out and make sure that the only thing Javier had injected him with was morphine. He didn't feel the lingering effects of drugs, but he'd also been using somnacin so long his body was probably metabolising things too fast for it to affect him. Then there was the inherent worry about blood-borne pathogens and diseases spread by dirty needles, and as someone who used needles regularly for a living, he needed to keep on top of things like that. He wasn't scheduled for a test for another month or so, but figured his doctor could make an exception in this case.

"On the forgiving or the feeling better?" Javier cocked an eyebrow at him, but the haughty look was ruined by the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Still apparently under the influence of morphine and possibly other unknown drugs, Arthur said, "You seem like a nice enough man. I can't imagine what Eames could have done to warrant shooting him out of hand."

Javier frowned. "We had a - misunderstanding," he said. "And I am afraid I allowed my temper to get the best of me. I am glad you're awake, however, as I would like to propose a deal."

Arthur lifted an eyebrow, and wondered what Javier would do to him if he refused. "Okay," he said, noncomittally.

"I will put out orders among my father's men that you and Eames are no longer targets, and are, in fact, to be treated with the utmost of courtesy. I will tell them that as soon as you step foot over the border here you are my guests, and that your word is as good as mine when it comes to giving orders, should you find yourself in need of anything. _Anything,_ " he specified. "Should you need - what is the word, cannon fodder. Or a hitman. Or hired muscle, or body guards, or even just a good massage, they will help you."

He was basically handing half the reins of control of the Spanish mafia over to them, Arthur realised. "And what do I need to do in exchange for this...gift?"

"You are a worker in dreamshare, are you not?"

"I am."

"What is your job description, therein?"

_What a bizarre question,_ Arthur thought, but then shrugged. Javier was holding all the cards; he had no real option but the truth in a situation like this. "Information," he said. "I gather all information available on a given mark, I set up the job and handle payouts, I'm the first one in and the last one out to make sure everything goes smoothly."

Javier looked thoughtful. "I do not need information, but I am not willing to trust others with this...delicate task. What do others do?"

Arthur explained them all as simply as he could. People new to dreamshare usually fell in with a team, who explained their various parts in their own way, or had a specific job lined up for themselves that they could already do, as in Ariadne's case. She was already an architect, topside, or at least in training to be one. They'd just taken her into the dream and let her build down there instead. "A full team is rarely needed," Arthur started, falling into his pedantic 'teacher's mode.' "But it involves a point man, such as myself, an architect, an extractor, a forger, and a chemist."

With Javier's leading questions, he went into more detail about each of the specific jobs. As he spoke, he realised how _bizarre_ his life had become, if only for the fact that all of this was perfectly normal to him. Explaining it to perfectly fresh ears and an unsullied mind brought home how weird the whole of dreamsharing actually _was._

"It sounds... fascinating," Javier said, when he was through. His eyes were shining, and Arthur would have put money down that Javier would find his way into it at some point, even if only as a chemist running things topside. "How many of these jobs can you actually do?"

Arthur was startled. "I started as an architect before I decided I preferred intel to building," he admitted, and that was something that he'd never divulged to _anyone_ before. The drugs were clearly fucking with his mind, even if it _was_ only morphine. "I can extract if I need to. I am in no way qualified to be a chemist, however," he added.

"And the last one, the forging," Javier encouraged. He reminded Arthur of a little kid, begging stories from an older relative. He frowned then, thinking, and realised that he was probably only a few years older than Javier, if that.

"I can forge... a little bit. Hair colour, eyes, things like that," Arthur admitted. "I just don't understand what it takes, and also, Eames is the best forger in the world. Measuring myself by his standards... well, it's a bit like holding a third-grader's crayon drawing up beside the Mona Lisa."

The lines around Javier's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "An apt description, I have no doubt. I didnt know Eames was so skilled; I should like one day to see him in action, as it were. Once we have this," and he waved a hand to indicate the whole situation, "cleared up." He sighed. "I would like for you to perform an extraction for me, Mr. Arthur."

Arthur was stunned into silence.

"No team, just you. You can build the levels, and you can do the extraction, you just said so. Forging and somnacin are no issue, I've had someone in contact with a reputable chemist in Africa. His name is Yusuf, have you heard of him?"

"Yusuf does good work," Arthur said, his mouth engaging before his brain. "I've worked with him before."

Javier smiled his boyish smile again. "I'm glad," he said. "There is also no need for exhaustive research in this case, because I already know everything about your mark that you'll need."

"Excuse me?"

"Me, Mr. Arthur. I am asking you to perform an extraction on me."

-

Cobb had done something to his phone so that it always displayed both the geographic coordinates of Arthur's location, and the mini-display of his vital signs. His temperature was back to normal at 98.9 degrees fahrenheit, his blood pressure was back to normal, and although his pulse spiked every so often, it remained largely regular. All good news, according to Cobb, who figured that if Arthur was in mortal danger everything would be higher.

Eames found himself filching Cobb's phone every fifteen minutes or so, just to watch it. Cobb finally gave up on getting it back and just let him stare at it, guessing or knowing that he needed the reassurance.

Halfway through their flight back to Madrid, Eames set the mobile down on his knee and looked at Cobb. "I never told him how much in love with him I am," he said, defeat and a keen sense of loneliness bitter on his tongue.

Cobb's lips twitched. "So I doubt he ever told you how he feels?" he asked. Eames shook his head, bewildered.

"He hates me, of course. Or rather, I'm just a necessary annoyance."

Cobb rolled his eyes dramatically. "He's in love with you, too, you idiot," he said, and then settled his headphones down over his ears. "Now leave me alone, I'd like to watch this." The in-flight movie was something about dragons and how to train them. Kid stuff, but Eames reminded himself that Cobb was a full-time father again, and probably saw worse things than this regularly.

He stared at Cobb's mobile and Arthur's pulse, and thought about love.

-

"You've never been militarised, have you?" Arthur asked, kicking himself for letting it get this far ahead without asking before. A maid was inserting the somnacin vials into the PASIV and pulling out the tubes for them to use while Javier settled himself into the chair he'd been sitting in during all his conversations with Arthur.

Arthur, his ribs still broken even if the bullet wound was slowly healing, remained in the bed, inserting the PASIV needle into his wrist with a practiced ease before leaning slightly and motioning for Javier to let him help.

"What does that mean?"

"An extractor goes into your subconscious and teaches it how to defend itself. It can get...messy."

Javier laughed, then winced as Arthur slid the needle home. "No, Mr. Arthur, to the best of my knowledge I have never been militarised. But I am fairly sure that someone has been mucking about in my head without my permission, and I would like for you to find evidence of it if it's been happening."

Arthur put out a hand to stop the maid from pressing the button on the PASIV, and fixed Javier with a pointed look. "And if there's nothing there?"

"Then you will walk away a free man, with the entirety of my father's cartel at your command, should you wish it. I will not renege on this deal if it turns out I am making it up," he promised. "Eames as well, though I may ask you to bring him back so I may see him forge with my own eyes."

This reminded Arthur of one of his original questions. "What did he do, anyway, that caused you to ...overreact like that?"

Javier just smiled his boy's smile and pressed the button. The next time Arthur opened his eyes, he and Javier were sitting at his favourite little cafe in Los Angeles. The rest of the surrounding area was a mixture between Paris and Barcelona, and much of the cafe resembled a Starbucks and a different coffee shop Arthur had stumbled upon during a job in Vienna.

"I wanted to sleep with him," Javier admitted. "I thought he was offering. It turns out that he wasn't, but. I am not accustomed to being balked." And he reached over and slid two fingers down Arthur's forearm, sending a frisson of electric energy up his body, and Arthur's first thought was, _I can't imagine why he wouldn't,_ because Javier was a very attractive man, smooth and confident, and he gave the impression that he would be a very conscientious lover. Arthur almost propositioned him then and there, before recalling that he was here for a job and if he wanted to get busy with his mark he could do it later.

"I see," he said instead, trying to hide his thoughts behind a mask of professionalism. "I want you to think of safe things, and secrets. Concentrate on your memory of dreamsharing, and why you think you've been extracted from before," Arthur said.

"Oh, I don't think he took anything," Javier said, looking startled. "I believe he may have put something in here that doesn't belong."

It was extremely disconcerting, working with a mark who knew fully well what was going on. The projections were antsy, but didn't look violent yet, and most of them weren't even looking at the pair of them. They were staring in the direction of the bank Arthur had built into the level, and he took Javier's hand without thinking about it, leading him down the street.

"He?" Arthur asked, belatedly realising that Javier had let something important slip.

"Yes," the other man said. "My father. He does not approve of my... extracurricular activities, and he would like for me to settle down with a nice girl and start training to take over his business."

"Activities?" Arthur echoed, utterly flummoxed.

"Gambling, sleeping with men," Javier said, totally candid. "He will not disown me, because I am his only child and heir, but he does not approve, and I know for a fact he's had dealings with the dreamshare before. Once, a man named Nash was hanging around for a while, and when he left, I felt like I needed to marry Lucia and settle down. I am not ready to marry, and I certainly don't want to settle down with Lucia, of all people. She's my best friend, but nothing more. The timing was strange, is all."

"I see," Arthur said, and did. If Nash had been here before, he'd be spreading it all over the dreamshare network that he'd performed inception and gotten away with it. The chance to take him down burned like sweet wine at the back of Arthur's throat, and he almost jogged the last few paces into the bank.

With Javier's help, they found the right lock-box, and he waited, keeping an eye on the projections while Javier looked over the papers.

"Yes," he said finally. "Nash, Tally, Gordon, and Antonio were in my head, trying to convince me to settle down with Lucia." He glanced at Arthur with something heated simmering in his eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Arthur," he said, and kissed him.

-

To Eames' complete and utter surprise, the minute their plane landed at the airport they were met by two men who claimed to be working for Javier. They were sincerely (or seemed to be at any rate) apologetic for the 'misunderstanding' that had chased Eames out of the country at gunpoint less than a week ago, and hastened to add that Arthur was fine, that he was doing a favour for Javier in exchange for Eames' forgiveness.

This left a bitter, vile taste in his mouth, that Arthur was being subjected to _who knew what_ because Eames had gotten himself into trouble, but since the men were ushering them into a car and offering to drive them straight to the Negranoche complex, Cobb shrugged and mouthed 'go with it.' He kept one hand close to his gun, however, and Eames followed his example.

The diagnostic readings were interrupted when Cobb's phone chirped, and Eames nearly dropped it before handing it over to Cobb.

"It's Yusuf," Cobb said, frowning. "He says he sent some somnacin to one Javier Diego Negranoche a few days ago, and that Negranoche mentioned Arthur's name."

Eames' heart leapt up into his throat. "What. The. Actual. _Fuck?_ "

One of the bruisers in the front seat turned around. "Javier's father hired a dream-team to fuck with his brain," he offered. "He was talking about asking Arthur to find out if it was true, in exchange for," he waved his hand vaguely. "All this."

"And Arthur came through, I assume?" Cobb asked, and Eames was grateful because he couldn't get words out past the lump in his throat and he was half-afraid he was choking to death silently.

"When we got the call to come and retrieve you, Mr. Arthur was explaining dreamshare to Javier, yes," the bodyguard said. "It should be wrapping up by the time we get there."

"You mean he's going down _by himself_ with some maniac druggie killer?" Eames burst out before he could help himself. The thug in the front seat frowned, his hand twitching towards his gun, but he didn't draw it, and Eames thought that whatever deal Arthur had made _might_ be worth it after all, and he'd tell him so right after he was through kicking his ass for getting shot and kidnapped and taking some tourist down into the dreamshare by himself.

"Javier is none of those things, and I would appreciate it if you didn't say anything like that again."

Eames opened his mouth, realising as he did that that was what got him into trouble in the first place, and then Cobb was pushing his hand over Eames mouth and nose, briefly cutting off his air but definitely cutting off the smart-ass remark he'd been about to make. Eames shot him a look that was half-grateful and half-pissed off, but he closed his mouth and didn't open it again until they were pulling into the heavily guarded complex.

A beautiful spanish woman with thick dark hair and laugh lines framing her eyes greeted them in heavily-accented English. "Hello, gentlemen! My name is Lucia, I'm a friend of Javier's. He told me to let you know first thing that Mr. Arthur is fine as he can be under the circumstances, and that I was to take you to him as soon as you'd gotten settled."

"Settled?" Cobb asked, cutting Eames off before he could say anything else.

"Yes, Mr. Arthur, he's not well enough to be moving around yet," she said. Eames choked back on everything he wanted to say and focused instead on the sway of her hips, the fall of her hair, and the way she wrapped her lips around her words. 'Meestur Arrthurr,' she said, rolling her 'r's and swallowing the consonants.

"Why? What's wrong with him?" The tense set of Cobb's shoulders and the terse clip to his words told Eames that he was just worried for the point man.

Lucia rolled her shoulders in a shrug. "He's recovering now," she said. "He was shot, and when he fell he broke three ribs and dislocated his shoulder. Javier said he landed at a bad angle to the ground, but me, I think that there is no 'good' angle to hitting the ground like that." She flashed a white smile at them, and bizarrely, Eames found the tension melting out of him as she put their concerns at ease. "We did take the bullet out, and a doctor came by and assured us that it hadn't hit anything vital, and his colours been coming back. Javier tells me he's coherent and in a great deal of pain, but all things considered, he's quite lucky."

She pushed open a door, and Eames entered into a pale-blue coloured room with everything doubled. There were two beds, two dressers, two lamps. "This is the blue guest room," Lucia said. "You can stay here for however long you end up - well, staying. Mr. Arthur, he's in the yellow room. Would you like to see him? Make sure for yourselves that we haven't shived him in the night, and all that," she teased.

"Yes, please," Cobb said, coming to the rescue once again because as nice as the room was, as friendly as Lucia was, he was still roiling with guilt over putting Arthur in this situation in the first place. He didn't think he could trust his voice at this point.

She lead them a short way down a hallway, and knocked on the door once before pushing it open. "Javicito," she said, and rolled something off in Spanish. "Mr. Cobb and Mr. Eames are here to see Arthur."

And then she moved out of the way and Eames saw a room that looked just like the one they'd come from, except everything was _yellow_ , and then he saw Arthur in one of the beds, pulling the PASIV needle from his arm as he struggled to sit up, and he swayed as his legs nearly gave out from under him. Someone took his elbow and lead him to a chair pulled up beside the bed, and then Arthur was _grinning_ at him. He did fall, then, but the chair caught his weight.

"Are you hungry, Mr. Cobb?" Lucia was asking. Eames was only peripherally aware that there were other people in the room. "Thirsty? I think we should leave them alone for a few minutes."

And he heard the door shut, and there was no more noise except for Arthur's strained breathing, and Eames sated himsel on the sight of Arthur whole and alive, and relatively uninjured.

"Eames?" The grin faltered when Eames didn't say anything, and Arthur reached out and put a hand on his knee - the only part of Eames he could reach without aggravating his ribs. "Eames, are you okay?"

And then Eames' breath rushed out of him in a _whoosh_ and he nodded, collapsing forward to lay his head on the comforter. "I am now," he said, voice ragged. "I am now."

Arthur threaded his fingers through Eames' hair. "Hey," he said softly. "It's okay, alright? We're practically royalty right now. We'll never have to worry about a thing if we ever come back to Spain."

"I'm so sorry," Eames said. "I should have - I need to - " He caught Arthur's hand in his, and stared at it for a moment before bringing it to his lips. "I need to tell you," he said, almost normal. "Before anything else happens to either of us. I love you, Arthur," and Arthur looked like he'd been suckerpunched.

"What? I - You - Wait, what?"

And suddenly, now that the words were out, everything seemed easier. Brighter, somehow. "Love you," he reiterated. "I didn't," he said, and then tried again. "I never got around to saying it before because... the timing was wrong, or I didn't think you'd want to be around me, and, well. But I realised when I spent nearly a full day thinking you were dead and then worrying about what was happening to you in here, and I realised that none of it matters, that I didn't want anything else to happen before you knew, and well. There it is."

Arthur was still staring at him like he'd lost his mind. Suddenly embarrassed, Eames pulled away. Arthur grabbed for his hand again before he made it too far.

"That's fine," he said, and squeezed Eames' fingers. "Because I love you, too."


End file.
